Circle
by Clockwork Butterfly
Summary: [Manga Timeline] A quick short involving everyone's favorite onmyoji and unexpected circumstances. This will be rewritten or nixed completely if Clamp contradicts it when they pick up X again.


When the Earth was created, two great lights were set in the sky, the greater one to govern the day, and the lesser one to govern the night. Together, the two followed a cycle almost as endless as time itself. The sun would rise and fall inexorably, and the moon would rise to take its place. Now poised over the vast metropolis of Tokyo, the moon's power waxed as the last rays of daylight finally disappeared over the horizon.

On the crowded Marunouchi subway line, day and night had no meaning. Only the word "rushing" seemed to matter, although it quickly lost its meaning in the hands of the majority.

A woman sat on the far side of the subway. She was in her late thirties or so. She wore a simple blue dress, and had long brown hair, though her black roots were starting to show from underneath the coloring. On her left sat her five-year-old daughter, who had shoulder-length brown hair and was in a cute looking white dress. They sat at the head of their car, in the section marked off for special passengers: those with disabilities, the elderly, and those with children. On the little girl's left was an elderly woman.

"So we found a house in Ogikubo today where we could live," the mother said.

"Well, that's good," said the older woman. "At least your husband could visit sometime. That is, if you'll still let him."

They sat at the head of their car, in the section marked off for special passengers: those with disabilities, the elderly, the disabled, and those with children. On the little girl's left was an elderly woman, dressed in a faded blue blouse and worn khaki pants, and a cane in her hands. The old woman had been talking with the little girl's mother since she boarded the subway at Shin Koenji.

"So we found a house in Ogikubo today where we could live," the mother said.

"Well, that's good," said the older woman. "At least your husband could visit sometime. That is, if you'll still let him."

"Yes, of course," the mother said, somewhat troubled. "Of course I will let him. He is still my husband, and I still love him. I just hope he is doing the right thing."

She trailed off in thought, preferring to not vocalize her concern that her loving husband might have found another woman. Little did she know that indeed he had, though his business with her was far more important than his wife could have possibly imagined.

Suddenly, the subway intercom cut through their conversation.

"The next stop is West Shinjuku. This is West Shinjuku. The exit is on the right-hand side."

"Oh," said the elderly woman as she got up from her seat. "I'm sorry but this is my stop. I should be going."

"Ah, I see. Thanks for everything, and please be careful getting home," said the mother.

"Don't worry about me," the woman said, hobbling to the doorway as the train came to a halt. "From here on, I'll be fine. I'll pray that your situation works out well. Good luck and take care."

The mother whispered something in her daughter's ear as the metal doors of the train screeched open. People flooded into the subway uncontrollably, like fish inadvertently consumed by a deep-sea leviathan. The little girl waved goodbye at the elderly woman, but she was already gone.

A man had taken her place in the seat, but he was neither elderly nor disabled as far as the naked eye could discern. He wore a strange white jacket over a black turtleneck and grey-green slacks, which slipped into his hightop boots. Over his hands were thin brown leather gloves. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes like shadows. He looked somewhat odd, but in a sense that he didn't exactly fit in. It wasn't nearly as noticeable disturbance as that caused by the average gothic-lolita Harajuku girl.

"Hi, mister!"

It was the young girl who spoke first. The kindergartener had not yet learned the social niceties, or lack thereof, of maintaining one's silence on public transportation. Her mother pulled her back and apologized to the stranger.

He took off his sunglasses, turned his face and glanced at the mother. His gaze was horrifying, like that of a gorgon. His right eye had recently been replaced by a glass replica. His left eye, however, was scarier still. Behind that eye seemed to dwell all the knowledge of the universe, as if he had traded in one of his physical eyes for the ability to see instead beyond our physical realm.

The mother was scared by his eyes, but she could do nothing. The honor and politeness engrained into her Japanese body since birth could do nothing against this weird stranger, or at least until he proved a threat.

"It's not a problem," he said slowly, as if he were choosing each word carefully.

Then he looked down at the one who had provoked him.

"Hello, little girl."

The little girl stared deeply into his good eye, something she should not have done. The gods only know what she saw in that eye that day, but it was surely something she would never be able to forget.

In that same instant, the man realized his mistake. He placed the sunglasses back over his eyes.

"Oh," he said apologetically. "Excuse me. I must have scared you."

Finally gathering her strength, the mother spoke.

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Might I ask what happened to your eye?"

"Ah, I'm sorry," he said jovially. "I only lost it recently, so I'm not used to hiding the glass one yet. I lost it almost a week ago in an unfortunate accident. I'd rather not explain the details. I wouldn't want to give your cute daughter a nightmare. I don't really need it anyway. I can see well enough as it is."

"Oh? What do you mean?" the little girl asked suddenly.

The man smiled and looked at the girl.

"I'm an... well... I'm a sort of fortune-teller," he said, trying to speak in simple Japanese.

"Really?"

The girl was amazed. She had never before seen a real live fortune-teller or anyone with mystical ability for that matter. She always loved when her father brought back stories of a psychic dreaming princess or any of several other mythical figures lined the texts of the faerie tales he would tell her before bed. The girl missed her father dearly, though she knew she could never show it.

The little girl thrust her palm towards the man.

"Can you read my fortune?" she asked.

Her mother grabbed her hand and pulled it back slightly.

"You shouldn't ask those things, dear," she scolded. "It's rude!"

"It's quite alright," the man assured her.

His voice was very soothing. It seemed almost hypnotic, but at the same time like a well-written melody. It was something everyone around him seemed to long to hear, deep in their souls.

The mother, convinced it was alright, released her daughter's arm.

"This is Shinjuku Sanchome," called the subway intercom. "Shinjuku Sanchome, right in front of Mitsukoshi and Isetan. The exit is on the right-hand side."

"Which stop is yours?" the man asked.

"Oh, Asakasa Mitsuke," the mother replied, slightly startled.

"Well, we still have time, then," he said.

The fortune-teller turned the girl's left hand palm-up and looked at the lines on her hand. It was a delicate hand for a five-year-old, and it was barely developed enough to read. The important lines were there, though, running through her hand as the subway ran through the city.

"Uh, mister, why are you wearing gloves?" she asked.

It was the middle of spring. Neither parent nor child could see a reason for them, though the mother would never dare ask such a bold question.

"Ah," the fortune-teller said, taken aback, "Well, I have some old scars on my hands. I don't think mommy would want you to see them."

"Oh," the daughter said, "I'm sorry. What kind of scars?"

"Well," he said, "They were given to me long ago. They are shaped like this."

He smiled as his fine index finger traced a five-sided star on the girl's open palm.

"Wow," she replied. "That must hurt!"

He nodded.

"Well, anyway," he said, "Let's look at your palm."

He studied it for a few moments before he made his answer known.

"This line means you will have a long life," he said. "Nice and long. It won't change much once you grow up, but I'd still bet you'd live at least long enough to be a grandmother."

"Oh, is that so?" the mother interjected, only half-believing it. "How nice!"

"Yes," the man said. "I see few people with lines formed this way. This is a truly rare commodity."

The young girl smiled. She had only understood part of what he just said, but she knew it was something good by the smile on her mother's face.

"Say thank you, dear!"

"Thanks mister!"

The fortune-teller smiled happily.

"It's no problem. I enjoy reading palms."

The mother smiled back, but she rarely believed in superstition or anything magical like fortune-telling. Like her husband, she was an agnostic. If there was some supreme force that created the universe and called everything into being, she could live without trying to figure out what it was. She was forced to believe in some sort of mysticism though, simply because her now ex-husband took part in some of it.

She sighed. She didn't want to bring this child up on her own, but she knew she had no choice. Her husband was unavailable right now, and like it or not, there was nothing she could do. He didn't even give her a way to contact him. Resigned to the fact that she might never see him again, it was somewhat refreshing to hear that at least her daughter would live a long life. Not that she really believed it.

"Asakasa Mitsuke," the train's intercom announced, "The exit is on the right-hand side. This is Asakasa Mitsuke."

"Okay, this is our stop," the mother said. "Say goodbye, Yuka!"

"Bye mister," she said waving her hand.

With Yuka and her mother safely off the train, the metallic doors slid shut again. The man in the white coat smiled. What an interesting coincidence.

He had known a young girl named Yuka so very long ago. Yes, Yuka was her name. Yuka Watanabe. That was back in the days when he used to work more often with Detective Kawano of the Tokyo Police. There had been a case with a serial killer on this very same subway line, and that Yuka was one of the first victims several years ago, though it seemed like just yesterday. He had helped Detective Kawano catch the killer after awhile, but only after he had taken one more victim, and almost another girl.

"Mirei," he whispered, under his breath, but she could no longer hear him.

He remembered it clearly now. Those were back in the days when he was a weak and naïve freelance onmyoji. Back before he had been shown firsthand how cruel the world could be. Those days were now long gone. His past had been more than severed. He had been lost his innocence long ago, and now he possessed what he liked to call "the gift." It was the only real thing he was ever truly able to inherit from his best friend.

Long ago, in a field of sakura trees, a young student chose the onmyoji as the heir to the powers of darkness, the power to kill. As it had been done to him, so had he done. The five-pointed star he traced on Yuka's small innocent hand had marked her. Someday, following in the onmyoji's footsteps, she would find him, trace him down, and kill him. The dragons had nearly finished their battles, but this cycle would repeat, unhindered yet again, and he would soon join the multitudes of his dark ancestors in hell.

"I lost my bet you know, dear Yuka," he whispered softly to himself, laughing slightly. "I do wonder how you will handle ours."

As his trade allowed, this much of the young girl's destiny he could see. However, he could barely imagine the depth of the crises that young Yuka Aoki would face one day, once she matured enough to discover her new destiny. That much was certain.


End file.
